


Planes are Evil, Wings Should be Ridden Instead

by CleverLines_Unread_CleverNapkins



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Airplane, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Bobby and Bela are friends, Bottom Castiel, First Time, M/M, Phobia, Scared Dean, Top Dean, planes, sassy Bela
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-15
Updated: 2015-02-15
Packaged: 2018-03-13 00:06:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,185
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3360386
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CleverLines_Unread_CleverNapkins/pseuds/CleverLines_Unread_CleverNapkins
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Bobby sends Sam and Dean on a mission to bring Bela back from  a sticky situation, it seems like a pretty terrible idea. But throw in the fact that Bela is only accessible by <em>planes</em> and it just screams disaster to Dean. Luckily, his winged friend is around to help him out... in more ways than one.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Planes are Evil, Wings Should be Ridden Instead

Dean was fairly certain his Baby had more leg room than this tin can. The armrests are much to close for anyone to sit comfortably, and the seat is in the most awkward stage of upright, making the already aching muscles in his back throb. Dean looked down at the lever poking out of the underside of his seat in the space between the chair and the side of the plane; that lever could probably make this a bit more comfortable, although he was not looking forward to the lecture Sam would inevitably give him for "disturbing and cramping the people in the seat behind him." Again. 

Not that the people in front of him thought about that when they lowered their seat-backs as far as possible. 

One after another more and more people filed into the plane, clogging up the aisle and trying fruitlessly to shove bags in every available space. After a while where all Dean did was lean his head back at an awkward angle and close his eyes, the plane was fully seated and settled. 

The pilot started talking over the speakers and attendants located all of the exits - as if Dean didn't immediately find them when he sat down. Dean must have checked that his life jacket was secured properly, only stopping when Bela called him out on it. 

Ah, yes, Bela Talbot... 

She was the sole reason of this plane trip from Hell, having screwed up in a deal gone sour about a week and a half ago. But in true Talbot fashion, she couldn't get double-crossed in Montana, but rather across an ocean in France, calling the WInchesters as a last resort to save her skin. Which they did, sticking it to a few French hunters that tried to nuzzle in and do their work. 

Both Winchesters thought that finishing the case up would be the end of the Bela series;  
however, when Sam had to decline a job from Bobby in Idaho, he ended up explaining the whole story to their elder. When Bobby heard that Bela was in trouble again, he became much more focused, finding anything and everything to help her without so much as a word or comment. He kept in constant touch, calling not only Sam but Dean and even Bela's scarcely used alternate cell. The night that Bela had been released from her deal, Bobby was the trio's first call. Sam had been the one to dial, his face contorting into odd expressions as Bobby's gravelly voice floated through the receiver, too low for the other two to hear clearly. After a while, after Sam's half-formed sentences and arguments were cut off and overrun by their faux uncle, Sam closed the phone, placing it calmly into his pocket with the patented "bitch-face." 

Dean watched his brother. He was about to ask what Bobby had said when Sam just shook his head, anticipating the comment and keeping his eyes trained on Bela. 

"What?" she asked.

Sam shrugged, "Give it a minute." 

As if on cue, Bela's old phone that probably hadn't seen the light of day in three years, found shoved at the very back of her car's glove compartment, gave a shrill ring. The thief's eyes looked from Sam to Dean and back before she warily reached into her bag and pulled it out. 

The number flashing on the screen tensed the woman's shoulders, made her take a breath before she put it to her ear with a "Bobby." 

Again, the man's gruff voice travelled through the speaker as Bela listened. Her mouth tried to work a few times, getting in a few syllables, sounds sounding foreign with her accent before they were cut off. In a few minutes shorter than Sam's, Bela was clicking her phone off. 

Both Bela and Sam just stared at each other for a moment, seeing who would blink first as Dean looked on, confused and severely out of the loop. 

"Well?" he said finally, breaking the stare down. 

The two looked away, Bela grabbing her whole bag off of a table, "Looks like we have a plane to catch, boys." 

Which is why she was sandwiched between the brothers, laughing at Dean. 

"Bela, I swear I will shoot you," Dean said through clenched teeth. 

She smiled, but stopped laughing, "All in good time." 

Sam leaned forward just as the engines started up. Dean had just started to relax and put his mind somewhere else when the whole goddamn plane started to shake and rattle from under him. It was loud and rumbling in the exact opposite way that his car was; the Impala was safe and controlled and not up five thousand feet in the air. 

"Dean," Sam was saying in a quiet voice. "Hey, hey, Dean, just relax, okay? Just sit back and breathe and you'll be fine." 

With his eyes clenched tightly, Dean forced himself to inhale. The breaths were harsh and loud and reminded him of those women giving birth he saw on that ridiculous show Jo made him watch back at the Roadhouse. He had thought it was a crazy superstition - by breathing deeper all of the pain and fear would go away? He said that to the blonde and had gotten a nice punch on the shoulder because of it. 

And now, sitting in that tiny tin can, Dean stood by that. 

 

 

Halfway through the flight, of course Dean would be the one to get the window seat, forcing him to watch with morbid fascination the frequently changing and blurry landscape zoom by underneath him. Damn Sam and his ridiculously long legs needing the aisle. He stared through the glass not really seeing anything, almost fooling himself into believing that the houses and trees weren't really that big, only playthings. Like Legos. And Dean was simple walking through a Lego-sized town. And when that didn't work, he told himself that this wasn't real, only a nightmare and he'd wake up any second back in the States sitting in his Baby under the warm sun. a cold drink in his hand. And when that didn't work, he drank. 

Give him a .45 and a room full of angry monsters and ghouls and Dean would fight them head-on, no questions asked. That was a simple choice, a reflex, a primal instinct that had worked within thousands of species for a millennia. Fight or die, survival of the fittest, taking your life in your own hands and having to rely on your own power and strength to get you through. And it was working fin until the Wright brothers came along and had to screw it up with their flying tin can contraptions. 

So far, Dean had not moved a single muscle from the time the plane had liftoff until now, and he planned to keep it that way. Sure, his legs were uncomfortably squished and he was pretty at least one was asleep, and his hands would be sore tomorrow from holding both armrests in a white-knuckled death grip as his back arched and contorted in a way it never had before, but as long as it kept Dean from feeling like his lungs were being crushed and his stomach needed to be pumped, he could deal with the rest later. 

He had just gotten to the second verse in Kansas' Dust In The Wind when there was a distinctive warmth on his knee. 

Just as the plane made the transition from land to sea, Dean;s head looked to his leg, taking in the hand there dotted with jewels before following the arm up, up, over a shoulder and landing on Bela's face. Her green eyes were wide and locked on his own. 

"Are you alright, Dean?" she asked, her accent lilting her words. "You seem a bit... _peaky._ " Bela accented the last word with a short squeeze of her hand. 

To say Dean was confused would be an understatement. He was half hoping this was still all part of an increasingly convoluted dream. He looked down at Bela's hand, which hadn't moved, back to her face, which still had the concerned face Dean would have never guessed could be worn by a thief such as herself. "Flying's, uh, not really my thing, y'know?" he tried, hoping this was all jus some odd way of her thanking him for saving her ass on this case without actually having to say the words "thanks you". The horror. 

"So that's why you take that old hunk of junk everywhere," she said. Dean opened his mouth to defend his Baby because really, no one gets away with insulting her and anyone would be hard pressed to find a more badass car on the market today. "Alright, down boy, moving on." Dean rolled his eyes, but let it slide this once. "It's a shame about your little fear though. There are so many exciting places to go that cars can't bring you. There's nothing really to be frightened of; it seems to me that you just need to relax a bit." Dean could feel Bela's hand start to rub his knee, moving up to his thigh on sure, slow strokes as she spoke. 

It might have taken a second or two longer than Dean's proud of to realize just what Bela was trying to do - hey, give him a break, there were a few drinks involved in getting him to be able to sit in the plane. 

His eyes flicked to her hand, then back to her face as Dean tried to find words, "Look, Bela," he said, a nervous chuckle thrown in. 

Dean was half hoping that Sam would see this and become the perfect out; he could see it now, Sam's eyes would bug out, sweeping the seats to make sure no one was looking before pushing Dean away and dislodging Bela's hand. He'd snap at the both of them and Dean would act annoyed but shoot his brother a grateful look. The rest of the ride would be touch-free thanks to Sam's ever-watchful eyes, and once the plane touched down on the tarmac, he'd be able to leave scott-free, jump in the Impala and have a comfortable foot of leather seats and worn carpet between him and Bela. 

But of course, right when Dean actually needs his prude, meddling brother, Sam decides to be obliviously asleep. Perfect.

"Oh, don't be coy, Dean," Bela was saying, "it's not like this was new. We've talked about it before, remember? You didn't seem so shy then."

"Shy, me?" he sputtered, jiggling his leg in an attempt to remove her hand but succeeding only in moving it farther up his thigh. "Lady, I ain't shy." 

"Then what's the problem?" 

What was the problem, exactly? Honestly, Dean remembered the first time this was proposed, put on the table, and it hadn't bothered him so much. Bela was more than attractive - anyone with eyes could see that - and with her attitude, you knew anything they di would be fucking fantastic. Dean was on board with it every time they crossed paths, until, of course, something went wrong and Dean and Sam had to go kill something or clean up her mess and Bela would once again disappear with something of theirs. Sometimes his fantasy was cut short with something she would say, a deal on the phone for some gruesome object sold to dangerous people out to get him and his brother for a profit. 

He could tell her that, right now. Tell her that she was a terrible person, and sure he might not have many, but Dean had a few morals. He could remind her of the times she tried to get them killed, gave away valuable information about them; of the deals she made with demons and gods and witches, of the deals she refused to make with them. Call her a murderer and a thief. 

Any of this could roll right off of Dean's tongue and stop all of this right in its tracks. 

But he couldn't get it out. 

Just then, when he was about to tell off Bela and make the rest of the flight hella awkward, the plane experienced a bit of turbulence. Bela was surprised for a moment before realizing it was a routine hazard. Dean, on the other hand, had snapped his mouth shut, his body stilled, sitting forward, his hands glued to the chair. Dean felt his stomach lurch, his head start to spin, his ears under so much pressure he wanted to scream. 

Distantly, Dean could hear Bela's voice, but he couldn't make out what she was saying. He was starting to sweat, his shirt collar too tight, and suddenly it was all too much: Bela's hand, her advances, the height, the small cabin, the fucking turbulence. It was all too much. 

The hunter stood abruptly, pushing the seat in front of him forward a clear foot and ripping Bela's hand from his leg at the same time. When he stood, his head smacked against the ceiling; vaguely he knew that he would have a pounding headache when he got up the next morning, but at that point in time, he only let out a, "Fuck," and kept moving. 

Bela at least was smart enough to move her legs, crowding them up against the seat so Dean could get by with minimal damage. Sam, on the other hand, was still sleeping in the aisle seat, blissfully oblivious to Dean's minor panic. When Dean passed him, there wasn't so much contact as there was a full-on collision. Dean tripped over Sam's overly large legs, stepping on an ankle sprawled out into the aisle. 

Sam woke with a start, his laptop flying from his lap, knocking into Dean who was valiantly trying not to fall after losing his footing over Sam's feet, before landing on the floor with a sharp thud. The younger Winchester shouted at his brother, a surprised, "What the Hell, Dean!" Bela was laughing at the pair of them. Sam saw a flash of his brother's face, the glazed look in his eye, his cheeks red and flushed, and realized this wasn't just his brother being impatient and annoying. Something was wrong. 

The hunter went to stand and follow his brother only to be tethered down by his seatbelt. He fumbled once, twice, his eyes not staying on the buckle long enough to properly release it, trying to keep an eye on his brother. He felt another set of hands push his out of the way, deftly un-clicking the red square and allowing Sam to stand; he turned and saw a soft smile on Bela's face. If he dared to name the expression, he'd say she looked... apologetic? 

"What?" she said, jerking her head in the direction of the back of the plane. "Go." 

Sam nodded once before launching himself out of his seat and down the aisle. As he went, he was acutely aware of the stares he was receiving and he tried to smile at a few disapproving mothers and grandfathers, hoping that they wouldn't go and call an air marshall on the two of them for disturbing the flight. 

There's only one bathroom on the plane - a serious health hazard if you ask Sam - that Sam knows innately his brother went to. The door's locked, the stewardesses are nowhere to be found, so Sam knocks softly. There's no answer. 

He tries again, pressing his ear up to the door, wincing as he forcibly pushes the knowledge of just how many germs and bacteria infected the door out of his mind. "Dean?" he calls softly. 

Again, there's no answer. 

"Dean, c'mon, just let me know you're alright and I'll leave." 

Inside the bathroom, Dean was trying very hard not to vomit. Sam was banging on the door, and Dean wanted to answer, to open the door, pat his baby brother on the shoulder and make some crack about the food, but he couldn't. Not when his stomach felt like it was so far up his throat that it would choke him, his hands shaking so bad he seriously doubted he'd even be able to hold the handle long enough to open it. 

The pounding continued, louder and harder, and then, suddenly, it broke off. Dean strained his ear, concentrating on something other than the building pressure in his head and was rewarded with the muffled sounds of Sam arguing with a woman. A flight attendant, most likely, by the way she kept referring to Sam as "sir." 

Again, Sam started banging, "Dean, Dean, you gotta let me know you're okay! Dean, now! D - hey get your hands off me! Watch it!" The pounding was now erratic, his hands barely connecting with the door, though his voice was still close. "That's my brother, okay? It's fine - I'm not a 'danger', lady, I just need to know -" Sam was cut off again, as heavy footsteps rounded the corner and the door to the bathroom was pushed forward harshly, accompanied by Sam's too-familiar grunt of pain. "Fuck! Dean!" The repetition of his name stirred something in Dean's gut - a lifetime's worth of looking out for his brother, of jumping to his side at a call - but it was quickly overridden when the plane once again his a bout of turbulence. 

With Sam gone, so was Dean's small bit of distraction. Hands in a death grip with the countertop, Dean breathed in small gasps, shallow breaths. He was sweating, his t-shirt soaked through, and he could feel beads gathering on the back of his neck; forcibly detaching his hand, he flicked the faucet on. Cool, clear water burst forward, and the hunter wasted no time in throwing his head underneath the spray and soaking his hair. When he resurfaced, Dean's chest felt a little easier, not so tight. Maybe, just maybe, he could take the rest of this flight.. 

Above his head, a red light started flashing. A voice crackled over the loudspeaker... 

Ladies and Gentlemen, this is your captain speaking; sorry for that turbulence earlier, it seems to be behind us and clear skies all the way back to the States. But just to be on the safe side, we are now ascending to 49,000 feet, and will be arriving on-time at our destination. 

49,000 feet. 

_49,000 feet._

The water running down the back of his neck, soaking into his shirt felt like ice. 

Forty-nine thousand feet. 

Gone was the twisting of his stomach. Missing were the tremors that made his hands shaky and useless. 

In their places was a bone-deep panic; the kind of panic that stalls battalions and crumbles empires, that make even the most courageous rulers doubt themselves. The kind of fear that makes a seasoned hunter's knees weak, that makes his sink to the floor with a soft exhale and a single thought: There's no way I can do that. 

So there he sat, knees pulled to his chest, back against the door. 

"Fuck," he muttered to himself. "God, fuck, fuck, get me off this fucking plane!" With the last, utterance, Dean let his head fall back against the wall, hardly wincing at the thump. He sat there for a while, fumbling around inside his mind to try to find some way he could get off of the plane and back on actual land. Almost everything he came up with would get him arrested, and would definitely not make the flight any shorter, or would make the plane plummet thousands of feet into the ocean. Neither of which were exactly appealing. It seemed that the only way would be if he suddenly sprouted wings. 

Wings. 

"Cas?" he whispered to the small room. Cracking an eye open, he waited. "Cas, please, man, if you can hear me." He swallowed audibly. "I need you. Badly. Can you just - please, just hear me." 

A heartbeat passed, then two. then three, and still there was no sign of the Angel. Dean's eyes closed as he tried to swallow the lump in his throat. 

"Dean." 

It was a small sound, an urgent sound, a close sound. Cas was in front of him, crouched like a tiger, his long trench coat a pool around his feet; his eyes were intent on Dean's, his rowdy hair windblown and fluffed. 

"Cas," Dean breathed. 

"Dean, what's wrong?" Dean watched as the Angel tracked his face and torso for any obvious injuries and almost smiled. 

"Planes," he said simply. 

Castiel's eyes snapped back to his, narrowed just the slightest, "Planes?" 

"Can you just, get me out of here? Please?" 

"To where?" 

The hunter sighed, "Anywhere. I don't care, Cas, I just can't be here." 

He hesitated. Castiel's mouth closed in a tight line as his eyes were diverted. "What about Sam? And your charge?" 

"My charge?"

Cas nodded, "Yes, the flattering thief entrusted to your safekeeping." 

"Thief - oh, you mean Bela!" He said. Then his nose wrinkled, "They'll be fine; Sam kinda likes flying, the freak. And Bela... can deal." 

With his head cocked, the Angel said slowly, "Dean, Sam is - " 

The Winchester slid up the wall onto his knees. He held his friend's shoulders in a light grip and fixed him with an intense look. "Cas," he said, "listen to me: Sam will be fine, alright?" 

The Angel looked unconvinced, his eyebrows drawn in tight as his lips thinned out, but he nodded nonetheless. Dean leaned his head back on the wall and closed his eyes in preparation for the move. Castiel gently placed his hand on Dean's chest - a move that made the hunter's breath stop momentarily. From the sheer unexpectedness, he's sure. Didn't this type of thing usually go down on a forehead? Full on dizzying sensation that messes with almost all of his body's internal systems for about four or five days was what Dean remembered from the last time he let Angel Mojo zap him through time and space. But, if this way was going to get him off of this godforsaken airplane, he'd be more than happy to go along with it. 

Cas' broad hand warmed the hunter's chest. Slowly but surely, that warmth spread radiated outwards in all angles; the pleasant heat close to his heart became more and more heated as the rest of his limbs tried to catch up. Sweat started gathering on the back of Dean's neck as his body squirmed on its own accord to try and escape the rising temperatures. With all of his hunter training kicking in on pure instinct, Dean's body arched upwards to try to dislodge the perceived threat of the Angel, his eyes slid shut while he familiar dizzying sensation filled his mind and he could hardly move under Castiel's divinely-strengthened hand. 

"Relax, Dean," the Angel said, his voice calm and soothing. 

The burning continued, rising and rising until Dean was sure there would be a permanent scorch mark of a hand imprinted on his chest. At least he'd have a matching set then.

All of a sudden, the burning stopped. The pressure on his chest was released and his mind was clear, save for a small burst of confusion based on his surroundings. 

Dean's eyes snapped open, he and Cas both stood up to their full heights. 

"What the hell was that, Cas?" Dean demanded. 

The Angel was unapologetic. "Moving a living human being from a high speed moving aircraft thousands of feet in the air to a specific location thousands of miles away without causing any lasting damage is not a small feat, Dean. It requires much more concentration and a more delicate placement of divination." 

Dean scoffed, which gained him an eye roll from his friend, as he said, "Of course it does. That doesn't mean it didn't hurt like a bitch." Absently, Dean lifted a hand to where his friend's had been just moments before. 

Looking around, Dean could feel his heartbeat return to normal as he found himself surrounded by an amazing familiarity: a lumpy, worn bed flanking a nightstand opposite a scratched up desk; a kitchenette attached to a far wall on the other side of the room. Most importantly, the walls were bolted securely to the floor, which didn't seem to be going anywhere anytime soon. A motel. Perfect.

Being on his home turf, as it were, Dean was able to fully comprehend what had just happened; embarrassment washed over him - a fully grown man who hunts monsters and things that go bump in the night has a panic attack because of a little airplane? What made it even worse was knowing that Cas, an all-powerful, unflinchingly brave Angel of the Lord was not only there by chance to see it, but had been specifically called down to get Dean out of there. Dean probably pulled him from some giant council up in Heaven where the future of all mankind was being determined, and now the universe will once again be completely against the Winchesters because Cas deserted the meeting. He could picture a giant meeting room filled with disgruntled old men and women whose wings fluttered in agitation behind corporate chairs, all watching the second hand of a clock tick as they all eagerly awaited Castiel's return. 

And standing there in the motel room, Dean had a strange thought. Well really, it shouldn't have been such an epiphany, but it hit the hunter over the head like a ton of bricks. Echoes of words floated through the hunter's head, "I always come when you call..." 

In that moment, Dean realized that he was right; that even if he was choreographing the entire next millennium, he would have paused the meeting, stopped the call to come to Dean's side. 

Relief, gratitude, and a dozen other emotions like it flooded Dean's mind in that moment. All embarrassment gone, all he could think about was how lucky he was to have Castiel by his side. Those emotions overpowered him, causing him to take a step forward and wrap his arms around the Angel, Cas was still as ice in his arms, his shoulders rigid, his eyes darting from behind Dean's shoulder.

The two stood there, awkwardly for a moment before Dean ended the hug with a cough. 

"Hey, man, uh," Dean started, "Sorry about that; it was just with the plane, and..." 

"It's quite alright, Dean," Cas said, his eyes squinting. "I know that human emotions sometimes require physical contact, and I am more than happy to help." The two watched each other before the Angel turned his back on the hunter. "The plane will be landing in a few hours, you should call Sam and let him know where you are. In the meantime, I would suggest some rest to recover." 

"You're leaving?" 

Castiel stopped walking away, his head tilted down but not facing Dean, "You've always had a problem with me lingering while you slept. I just assumed..." his voice wavered at the end, trails of uncertainty leaking through. 

Dean took a breath to steady himself, "You don't have to. Uh, you know, you're more than welcome to stay. With me." It was hesitant, the way he spoke, as if each word was an effort to get out. He was met with more silence; Cas didn't move a muscle to acknowledge anything the hunter said. It had Dean backtracking like only he could, "I mean, it is kind of your room, so, uh, it wouldn't be unheard of for you to be here. If you wanted. Unless you have, uh, unless you have stuff to do. In heaven." 

Still, there was no immediate answer to Dean's proposal. Embarrassment and awkwardness rolled of of the hunter in waves as he scuffed his boot against the carpet and avoided any glances at his friend. 

"There's only one bed." 

Dean startled at Castiel's words, half expecting the Angel to just fly out without saying good-bye. 

"What?" he stuttered out. 

Now Castiel turned fully back around to face Dean. "There's only one bed," he repeated. 

The hunter scanned the room once more before it finally registered. One bed. He gulped. "And?" he said boldly, a false bravado slipping easily into his voice, "We can share." 

He walked back a step, watching the Angel's eyes open wide - he obviously didn't expect that response - before walking all the way back to the bed, shucking off his boots and top layer of shirts. It was when Dean was shimmying around under the sheet to get comfortable that Castiel reacted, following the hunter's lead and removing his jacket on his way over. 

As Dean sat there, watching Cas pul off his tie with his long pale fingers, his jeans felt just a bit too tight. 

When Cas finally made his way under the covers on the other side of the bed, Dean was mesmerized by the way Cas moved. It was more graceful than Dean could have ever dreamed of being, and the easy pull of his muscles were all he could think about - it was embarrassing how much Dean's mind fogged up from just the stretch of Cas' shoulders as he pulled the blanket. When Castiel looked over at Dean, all soft angles, the hunter could feel his face reddening. 

He cleared his throat, "Alright, well... G'night, Cas." It was awkward and stunted, and now he was positive his face was enflamed. Hoping that the Angel was still too socially stunted that he wouldn't notice Dean's... preoccupation, and turned on his side, facing away from Castiel. 

"Have a good night, Dean," Cas replied. His voice was level, just like it always is, but something, the proximity maybe, made his heart skip a beat. his eyes clamping closed as he focused on anything but Cas and his body and his voice. 

 

Dean woke up slowly the next morning, confused when he didn't automatically hear the chainsaw snoring coming from Sam's side of the room. It took a few seconds after that - in which Dean laid very still, his body tense and alert, but careful to keep his eyes closed so anyone looking on would think him still asleep - to remember that he had parted ways with Sam. And had invited Cas to sleep next to him. In some motel. And he had accepted. 

Fuck, what was he _doing?_

As Dean laid there berating himself for his stupidity - _seriously, why did he do that?_ \- he felt sweat start gathering on the back of his neck. 

Dean had practically grown up in motels all around the country; they were mostly the same, with a few perks in some and an edge to others that made his skin crawl if he thought about it too much, but the one thing that stayed mostly consistent were the bedding. Sure, they kept him warm, but never to the point of sweating, and never were they this heavy across his body. 

Slowly he opened his eyes, intent on releasing himself from the stifling cocoon, only to freeze. Dean blinked once, twice, and would have pinched himself to make sure he was awake, if only he wasn't pinned down by Castiel. 

The pair were still mostly under the covers, but intertwined in a way that was entirely too intimate: Dean was laying on his back, his left leg spread out across the bed, over one of Castiel's as the Angel was splayed out on his stomach, half of his torso draped over the hunter. Castiel's arm circled the hunter's chest, his other leg pinning Dean's right leg down by the hips where it was hitched. 

Dean realized all of this first, but it was not the most prominent thought in his mind. Alright, so it was pretty high up on the list because really, _Castiel was laying on top of him_ , but the most important was Castiel's face. Or more importantly, his mouth. 

Cas had managed to snuggle his face into Dean's neck so that every breath fanned out across the sensitive skin there. 

Dean was having trouble focusing on anything else. Goosebumps raised on his skin there, sending shivers down his body, and if it continued any longer, Dean was going to need a very, _very_ cold shower. 

"Cas?" he tried softly. His voice was rough from sleep, giving it a gravelly tint; Cas didn't stir. Clearing his throat slightly, he tried again, "Cas." 

This time, the Angel did move, only it wasn't to wake up. He made a soft little noise - Dean would have said it was a whimper, had it not been coming from a celestial being eons older than the Earth - and buried his head further into the hunter's neck. 

Now every breath was up close and personal with Dean's skin, coming in hotter, creating moisture to build up, almost... almost as if Cas were kissing his neck. It wasn't such a far stretch, really, because after every few seconds, the Angel's lips would brush the smallest amount across his neck...

But no, nope, Dean had to derail that thought right now. 

"Cas, Cas," he tried again, a bit louder. 

"Dean." 

The hunter relaxed; finally, Cas was awake. In a minute he would open his eyes and realize what he was doing, Cas would get up, there would be a few awkward moments, and then everything would go back to normal. 

Except that Cas didn't actually wake up; his head didn't pop up from its place on Dean's neck, blue eyes confused but alert. Dean waited a minute, then two. Still nothing. 

"Cas...?" he tried one more time. 

"Dean....." the Angel said. It was a breath, a throaty, singular breath that fanned Dean's neck. He had never heard Castiel's voice sound like that: all gravelly and light. Cas wiggled a bit, snuggling deeper into Dean's warmth, his whole body moving against Dean's and the hunter was supremely grateful that he was able to hold in a moan at the contact. 

Castiel didn't seem to have that problem. "Dean... mmm, Dean...." he moaned, breathy, fading moans that resonated within Dean's bones and made his pants feel that much tighter. 

And who could blame him? Cas was literally plastered to every part of his body, breathing hot on his neck and moaning his name. What's a guy to do? 

HIs whole body stiffened as another few choruses of his name was moaned by Cas; his mouth went dry as he waited for the next round that inevitably came only a few seconds later, accompanied by the slightest movement of Castiel's hips forward, grinding delicately into Dean's thigh. The hunter's hand twitched, sliding a few centimeters down his own body before he realized what his body wanted him to do. 

Okay, we've found the line. 

"CAS!" Dean bellowed, sweeping and flailing all of his limbs at once. 

Castiel's eyes opened slowly, blinking rapidly as his makeshift pillow disappeared. Meanwhile, Dean was still sputtering around, throwing the blanket off of him and into the Angel's face, tripping ungracefully as his leg was still tangled with Cas' as Dean tried to stand. Almost as if watching from a distance, an outside observer, Castiel sat up. 

"Dean?" he tried to say, but the name was elongated and twisted as a yawn took over. Dean did not think it was adorable. 

The hunter stood for a few moments, just breathing, before he answered, "What were you dreaming about?" He knew he shouldn't ask, tried to say something else, _anything_ else, but that one question is the only thing his mouth would say. 

Dean watched as Cas' ears turned pink, the blush spreading down his face. He lowered his head, staring at his lap as a quiet, almost nervous chuckle escaped his lips. It was almost as if he was remembering the dream in detail and didn't want Dean to know. But Dean did want to know. He had to hear it. 

"It was, uhm," Cas looked back up, the blush still there, but fading quickly, "it was nothing."

"You said my name, Cas. You said it." 

"You might have been in it," he said reluctantly. 

Dean took a step towards the bed, "You _moaned_ my name." 

"So maybe there was a lot of you in it. You're a prominent fixture in my life since I returned to Earth, and our bond is extremely strong - " 

"Loudly." Dean was kneeling on the bed now, a predatory gleam in his eye. Cas stayed quiet. "It was hot." The way he said the last word was like honey, sweet and sticky in all the right places, and did things to Castiel. 

"Hot?" the angel questioned. His eyebrows were knitted together like they used to when Cas was new to Earth and had trouble communicating. 

"Yeah," Dean said, slowly moving towards his friend, "hot. Sexy. Alluring. Erotic. Arousing. Take your pick, bet you you're right." By now Dean was right in Castiel's face, his strong hand pressing the angel down, making him stay lying down. "So tell me, Cas," the hand that was on Castiel's chest raked downwards, scratching lightly, "what was it like? Rough like this? Or gentle and slow?" The same hand stopped pressing, trailing lightly up to his neck, gently grazing the skin there and raising goosebumps. 

Castiel's eyes fluttered shut. 

"Well, Cas?" the hunter prompted.

He tried to speak, his mouth opening and closing in succession, but no sound emerged. His breath changed with every stroke of Dean's hands, alternating between the solid scratching to barely-there touches that Cas arched into subtly. 

Pleased with himself at his ability to render Castiel speechless, Dean grew bolder.

"Like that, Angel?" he crooned. "I'll let you off on that one, but for this one..." Dean moved his hand down further, savoring the play of muscles as he did so, until he came to the belt buckle, undoing it quickly, "For this one," Dean continued, "you're going to be very vocal." 

The hunter thumbed at the button, popping it open, "For this part of your dream, did I use my hands - " Dean moved his head forward, mouthing at the zipper before grabbing it with his teeth and pulling it down " - or my mouth?"

"Dean," Cas breathed out. His eyes were open wide, staring down as Dean pulled on the waistband, pulling it down inch by inch. The fabric scratched against the angel's legs, adding to the sensations assaulting his body. 

"Mouth or hands, Cas?" Dean demanded, hooking his fingers into Cas's boxers but not moving. It was a tease, a promise. "Tell me, or I stop."

"Mouth," Cas said immediately. "Mouth, Dean," his face was red, as if he was embarrassed that the words came out so quickly. Dean wasn't embarrassed in the slightest. He smirked, rewarding his friend with a swift pull on his boxers. 

Dean had never seen Cas's cock before - he'd seen other men's, sure, but none of them compared to the one in front of him at this moment. Just the sight made his mouth go dry and his own dick ache in his pants. 

He took a swift lick at the head, making Cas jump underneath him. Dean smirked at the reaction, wanting to see more, see what Cas would do, what he could _make_ Cas do. 

In one sudden movement, Dean put his lips around Cas' cock, taking it all the way down to the back of his throat. It took a moment for him to adjust - it had been a while since he had been on the end of a blowjob - and a firm arm across the Angel's hips, but once Dean got accustomed to the feeling, there was no stopping him. 

Dean bobbed up and down on Cas, twirling his tongue up and around the shaft and tongued at the slit. The weight was familiar in his mouth, making his pants much too tight, and the little moans Cas was making under him was not helping that situation. Dean swallowed around Cas' cock a few times, feeling the constriction of his throat that made his eyes roll back behind his eyelids. Ever so slightly, Dean grazed the sides of Cas's dick with his teeth, going down the whole length and creating the most delightful sensation. 

"De - Dean," Castiel stuttered. It was then that Dean could feel it, could hear it in Cas' voice: the slight waver, the stressed way that he drew in breath. Cas was close. 

With deliberate slowness, Dean lifted his head off of the Angel, a trail of spit following between the two. At the loss of Dean's mouth, Castiel made the most delicious whine, his hips coming up off the bed to try and find it again. 

Dean watched with a devilish smirk, "Tut, tut, tut. Not yet, Angel, I can't let you finish that quickly. We've waited far too long for this, we're going to savor it, alright?" 

The hunter reached up, planting an open-mouthed kiss on Cas' cheek, sliding a hand into the side-table drawer. Growing up in motels like these as a kid finally came in handy, because Dean knew that in the bottom drawer of the table were extra travel-sized bottles of bathroom necessities. He searched the contents before he found the bottle he wanted before shutting it with a slam and returning to his previous spot. 

With his fingers slicked up with conditioner, Dean slowly circled Castiel's asshole. "You ready, Cas?" he asked quietly, their eyes locking. 

The Angel nodded. Dean smirked. 

He inserted the tip of his finger, stopping almost immediately in case Castiel was going to object. He didn't. 

Dean continued then, pumping his finger in and out slowly, dragging the pad on the walls and creating a friction that raised the hair on the back of Castiel's neck. He added another, and then one more, so that three fingers were slowly dragging in and out of the Angel's body and Castiel was panting and writhing for more. 

The hunter was harder than he could ever remember being just watching the other man. When the Angel started gasping his name, asking for more with his head tilted back, eyes closed, fingers twisting in the sheets, Dean decided enough was enough. 

He withdrew all fingers, eliciting a whimper from Cas. Cas' head jumped up, eyes wide and almost scared. He was scared he had done something wrong, that Dean had changed his mind. Before Cas could say anything, or even move, Dean said, "Can't wait any longer, Angel. Are you ready for the real deal?" 

The hunter, trained to read emotions and people through body language, could tell how much tension eased out of Castiel, assuring him that nothing was wrong; that, in fact, everything was very, very right. 

Upon request of a fluttering hand, Castiel shimmied up the bed until both parties were in a more comfortable and natural position. Dean slipped on a condom - which Cas seemed fascinated by, not even trying to keep his eyes off of Dean's moving hand - then held himself very still. He had to be sure, one last time. 

"You sure?" 

Castiel's big blue eyes met his, strong and determined behind the glow of lust. He nodded, "Like you have no idea."

Castiel always had a gravelly voice, and sure, it always had some effect on Dean, but it was manageable. Now, however, now Dean could hardly control himself: the tone of his voice had dropped at least an octave, his closed-mouthed moans from a moment before throwing his throat into a state of disuse that made it husky and rough. Each syllable, uttered in that way, sailed to Dean's ears, caressing and filling him up until the sound was almost tangible, fueling the fire and stroking his desire. His dick twitched, a movement that did not go unnoticed by Cas, who watched it hungrily, his dilated pupils widening, a tongue coming out to wet his lips. 

Cas spread his legs as Dean got between them, positioning himself just right, lining himself up with the most intimate part of Castiel. Dean pushed in slowly, letting Castiel acclimate to the feeling before moving in a few more inches each time. Within a few short moments, Dean had bottomed out and was having a hard time keeping himself in check. 

The two took a moment, just like this, with their bodies joined in the most intimate of ways, to just look in each other's eyes and take in what was going on. Then Dean winked, and he was not stopping anytime soon. 

With sure hands, Dean held the Angel's hips on the bed, and drew himself back before sliding all the way back into Castiel. Castiel's legs tensed with the motion, his hands scrabbling in the sheets because he wasn't quite sure what to do with them. 

It was electric, it was heat, it was unlike anything either of them had felt before. Cas felt more alive than he ever thought possible - being an Angel, his feelings and emotions were always muted and fuzzy, like he was remembering them from a dream, but not now. Now, he felt them in the brightest, realest sense. It tingled his toes and warmed his chest and filled him up in ways he never even dared to think (or that could have been because of Dean pulling in and out of him at such a rapid pace that created the fullness) and now that he knew what it felt like, he never wanted to let it go. 

That thought manifested physically as Cas moved his hands to grab at Dean's back, but finding little purchase against the thick coiling muscles. He felt them instead, running his hands over and over them, feeling the play of muscles with every change in direction the hunter made. It was intoxicating - for the both of them. 

Dean had never thought that he'd ever get to taste Cas, let alone be this intimate, to share every part of each other. And now that he has, now that he can feel his friend's hands scanning over his body, feel his warm breath panting into his neck, the tightness around his cock better than he's ever known, he knew he was in trouble. He was addicted to the feeling. 

Dean could feel he was getting close, his thrusts coming a bit more unsteady, a tightness curling in his stomach, and knew that he had to make sure Cas felt as good as he was about to. This had to be the best experience of Castiel's entire existence if Dean were to have _any_ chance of feeling this way and having Cas like this ever again. 

Removing a hand from Castiel's hips made his thrusts a little less powerful, but it allowed the hunter to stimulate his partner more. Pre-cum had beaded on the tip of Castiel's dick, tantalizing the hunter for the past few minutes, occasionally brushing up and off against Dean's stomach, but now, he could finally pay back that tease. 

He curled his hand around Cas' erection, watching as the other man's eyes rolled back at the overload of sensations. The hunter changed his pace, eliciting a delightful moan from the other man that Dean wanted to hear forever, and timed his thrusts with the pumping of his hands, using the pre-cum as a improvised lube. 

It didn't take that long after this, Cas sputtering incoherently as he tried to vocalize the feeling, before white strips were painted across Dean's hand and chest. Simply watching the display unfold beneath him made Dean cum embarrassingly quick after Cas, his grip on Cas' hip squeezing tighter, his mouth forming around a name that he dared not say out loud. Not yet. 

The two laid for a second as they came down from their highs. Dean pulled out slowly, trying not to let it burn too much before rolling over to the side. Now that they had finished, apprehension filled the room; the moments after sex were never so awkward for Dean, he had never cared what people had thought of him afterwards - well, besides that he had done well, of course. But emotionally, he had never cared. But Cas, damn, he cared what Cas thought of him now. 

It was a tense few moments where Dean laid stock still on his side of the bed and neither of them talked before Castiel stretched his arms over his head. The Angel rolled onto his side, laying his head on Dean's shoulder and slid his arm around his middle. 

"This... this is what is acceptable between mates after coitus, isn't it?" Cas asked haltingly from Dean's shoulder. 

At his words, Dean relaxed substantially, moving his arm to slide under Cas to cradle him comfortably, "Yeah, Cas. Yeah it is." 

The two laid for a moment, reveling in the idea of "mates" and enjoying each other's warmth and comfort. And even though both men knew that there would be many more nights just like this in the future, and that slowly the word "mates" will be replaced with things much stronger, and Sam would have questions and explanations and stories would need to be told, they were determined to make the most of their few precious hours being happy together without distractions.


End file.
